We walk in—warmer, classical music—and find a place to sit. We are met almost immediately by a woman in her early twenties with blonde hair and a pretty face. She is wearing tight jeans and a dark green shirt representing the establishment. The nametag on her shirt says, Tiffany.
“Hi,” she says, in a soft, welcoming voice, as if it’s her greatest pleasure to wait on you. “Welcome to Shakespeare’s. Shall I give you a few minutes?”
“Nah,” Lacey says. “We’re not gonna eat. Unless Rayleigh’s hungry.”
“Rayleigh’s thirsty and wants a Tequila Sunrise.”
Tiffany smiles, and Lacey says, “Ooh. Make it two.”
Tiffany gives an ardent, single, head bob, and says, “Got it. Back in a flash.”
I watch Lacey watching Tiffany, and she turns to me. Lacey raises her dark eyebrows and says, “She’s cute.”
“I thought you’d like her,” I say. “Why do you think I chose this place?”
“I believe I’m the one doing the choosing.”
“So, how is your love life anyway?” I ask. Lacey is always curious and has strange relationships. I know what kind of predator she is. She dates smart, sophisticated women. They are no more than trysts, lustful affairs that get the lewdness out of her system, at least for a while.
She looks at me and smiles. “Wild and kinky,” she says.
“Lucky you.”
“Her name’s Amanda, which is a name I like very well. And she is very beautiful. She looks like you, Ray.”
“You say the sweetest things.”
“I’m bound and determined to make you love me. I can take you places, show you things. You will not be disappointed.”
I smile, thinking I can really be wicked now, but I don’t want to kill her stride. Part of me is actually fond of the fact that a woman wants me. It’s quite a compliment.
“I’m sure you could, love,” I tell her. “But I like the husky shoulders of men, clean fingernails, Roman nose, and stout chin. Strong, elegant, mysterious features, a quick, sharp smartness that cannot be compared.”
“That kind of man doesn’t exist. Why do you think I’m a lesbian? Because the lesbians exist. Only women are charming. Only women, through love.”
“But haven’t you just had the craving—you know, for that real, live, pulsating member to just simply penetrate you from everywhere and anywhere?” I breathe the most heaving, lustful sigh I can muster and realize Tiffany is standing by our table. She sets the drinks down. She is smiling, eyebrows raised, because she has just heard every word I’ve said. She is not only smiling but looking at me thoroughly amused, her eyes wide.
“You know what I mean,” I say to Tiffany, and her reply is, “Actually, I do.” And, God bless her, she looks at Lacey and says, “Honey, you don’t know what you’re missing. That’ll be seven-fifty.”
I hand Tiffany a ten. She gives me my change, and I give her an extra dollar. She appreciates it and knows now to watch our drinks. We could be a good, albeit, short-stay table.
I raise my eyebrows at Lacey and shake my head. “You would’ve been good for each other,” I say. “If only…are you sure you don’t want to switch sides?”
“Never,” she says. “I’m not a traitor.”
We laugh, toast each other, and take a drink. It’s better already, and I’m glad the mood has changed. I’m thankful for her company and realize how much I miss it when she’s away.
“She is pretty, though,” Lacey says.
“That she is.” I get a good look at my friend. “Lacey, you’re blushing.”
“I know,” she says.
“That’s a rare feat.”
“You can stop anytime,” she says.
~
“You’re abusing your potential,” Lacey tells me.
I have to wait to smoke because of the new laws in Colorado. I’m tempted to go outside, but I resist.
“Haven’t we talked about this before?” I ask.
“Yes and no,” Lacey says. “You have a tendency to evade the questions.”
“You pose a lot of questions. You should’ve been a reporter.”
“I have no respect for journalism.”
Ooh, I think of saying. That’s a stab…girl who loves books.
I shake my head, but I know where she’s going.
“I mean the investigating I can appreciate,” she says. “But I don’t like the disregard for humanity. All for the sake of story. It seems all they care about is the story, not people’s feelings. I know they claim to want to bring you the story, but I don’t know…”
“That’s only in the movies,” I tell her.
“Bullshit,” she says. “I’ve seen a lot of movies and they portray journalists as being pretty okay people.”
I smile and shake my head. “Unbelievable.”
“It’s true,” she says. “But you abuse your potential.”
I take another sip. Tiffany comes over and refills like a Good Samaritan, keeping an eye on us. I leave another dollar and roll my eyes at Lacey.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” she says.
“I get along fine abusing my potential. That’s my lot in life. Mommy and Daddy have been saying how much better I can be for years. Why do I have to be better than what I am now? What’s so bad about that? Am I not good enough the way I am?”
She looks steadily at me. Lacey’s big, beautiful green eyes are mesmerizing. Her face is tan. She has been hitting the salon lately. She cocks her head and taps a bright red fingernail against her chin. “So, why is there this big, empty void in your life?” she asks.
“Why does everything have to be about that?” I say.
“Because that’s what everything is about.”
I notice how pretty she is. I always do. Her serious look is her most penetrating and long-lasting. Her full lips do not smile or frown. Her eyes are large and beautiful, stern, paying attention, never wavering. Her nose twitches and pulls in slightly. Then she narrows her eyes. I see why women and men love her, and why she plays it the way she does. I love her more because of it and want to be like her. She is my model of understanding. She is what Mommy and Daddy never gave me.
“I play it like a victim,” I say. “I’m a lunatic.” I am being as serious as I possibly can. This is as close to the truth as I can get.
“I wonder what Carmilla would say about that?” she asks.
“There’s a time and a place for her, but it’s not now.”
“Ray has an alter ego, and it is abusing her, much like she abuses her potential. She is swift to dream, but she is just a child. She is made of stars and light, and yet she proclaims to be born of darkness, nothing more.”
Maybe Lacey didn’t really say it like that. She talks a lot. You never know what to think or what to expect.
“Light doesn’t touch me, Lacey. It backs away. It knows I want nothing to do with it.”
“This is the light, Ray. Right here, right now. This is all there is.”
I let her have it. I figure, what the hell, she wants to talk this way…I can, too. “I have become what I never wanted. I always thought my behavior would have the reverse effect. The nightmare believes in me, and I believe in the nightmare. You’ve been a great audience.”
“What a cop-out!”
This conversation has literally drained me, and I can go no further. I look at my drink, realize how much is left, how little of a buzz I have. I drink the rest, look over at Tiffany by the bar, and she looks at me as if we’re on the same broadcasting signal. She nods, and I nod, and she is quick to lean over and tell the bartender, “Another Tequila Sunrise.”
I love this place.
Tiffany arrives and gives me my drink, places another—fresh—next to Lacey’s. Lacey pulls out her purse and pays, and I think, aren’t I paying for these drinks? They exchange a knowing smile, and I see Lacey’s cheeks burn red. Tiffany laughs and walks away. As far as convenience, it is getting better, and I wonder if this is what Lacey was talking about when
she mentioned the light.
“Potential is power,” Lacey says. “That’s what your parents were talking about.”
“What the hell do I want power for?”
She shakes her head. “Damnit, Rayleigh. Because. It’s quite possible you could change the world.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that, Lace.”
What was I avoiding? What didn’t I see?
“You are capable of so much more,” she says. “What are you afraid of?”
I look her dead in the eyes and take another drink. I do not want to answer that question. But I do. “Because I’m afraid it’ll kill me. And I’m very concerned about the pain.”
She looks at me for a long time without saying a word. Slowly, ever so slowly, the tips of her mouth curl upwards. “Where the hell is a good joke when you need one?” she says.
“You’re the best friend a girl could have,” I tell her
She smiles. “Let’s order a few more and go back to my place. I’ll drive you home later.”
“Okay, but no funny business.”
She cocks her head and opens her eyes wide. “Rayleigh Thorn. A hair on your head I would treat like the most delicate flower. I would have you respond to me in ways you never dreamed of. I’d take you to Heaven, Rayleigh Angelica Thorn. We’d live in the clouds.” She winks and blows a kiss at me.
~
We have a few more drinks and leave, giving Tiffany a table worthy to wait upon. Tiffany is polite and smiling the entire time, and Lacey cannot take her eyes off her. We walk a little unsteadily back to the car and are soon driving down the road, south, toward Lacey’s apartment. She lives at The Hawthorne Establishment, a little embellished for my blood, but hey…I don’t make this stuff up.
We park in the enclosed parking lot for ‘Tenants Only’ under the building, a towering, much more elegant place than mine. I’m jealous. We take the elevator. The advertising firm pays well, apparently. The Hawthorne Establishment is replete with a swimming pool, weight room, and a game room. At the seventh floor, the door opens, and we walk out into a slightly Victorian setting with a light blue, carpeted floor. It’s modern while trying to appear antique. Halfway down the hallway, we stop at a powder blue door, 14G—as in girl. Lacey brought this to my attention the first time I came over. “G as in girl,” she said, licking her lips.
Lacey’s apartment is exactly like her: smart, sophisticated, and charming. Subtle touches of femininity are everywhere.
“Make yourself at home,” she says.
Lacey goes to the kitchen and makes us a drink, Bacardi and Cokes. It’s one of her favorites. I turn the stereo on in the entertainment center. She always keeps the place sparkling clean, and the funny thing is, a single sign of her sexuality is nowhere to be seen. She doesn’t flaunt it, doesn’t tease the straights, doesn’t joke about them. She likes the sea. Signs of this, however, are everywhere. A statue of dolphins sits atop the entertainment center. Pictures of a trip to California with her girlfriend at the time, other people wearing sunglasses somewhere on the Pacific under a pristine blue sky, cover shelves, niches, and patches of one wall. She has a fish tank with various fish, which she says, “Are all good friends because they get along. No one has eaten each other yet.”
Lacey’s dream is to move to the coast because she loves the ocean. But she likes her job, and she always tells me how much she’d miss me if she goes, but I know she would do it, if given the chance.
I turn back to the kitchen after putting something relaxing on the stereo, Art Tatum.
“I’m sorry the movie sucked,” she says, and hands me a drink. I don’t realize how tipsy I am until I lift it to my lips.
“It’s okay,” I say. “The bar was fun.”
“Here’s to you, Rayleigh,” she says, raising her glass.
“To you,” I say.
We clink rims and drink.
“Smooth,” I say.
She smiles. “So?” she says.
“So.”
“Jeff is a prick with a small dick, and Pug is infuriatingly teen, and Dave has just had his masculinity stripped from between his legs.”
“All in a day’s work, Lace.”
“So what’s next?” she says.
“Religion. I hear there’s great health benefits.”
“Yeah, but they rob you of your mind.”
“And your soul.”
“That’s ironic, isn’t it?”
I laugh at that for a while, and we continue to make small talk. I shouldn’t have let her do this, I realize. She has had too much to drink. I could stay here, I think, but I hate waking up in any place other than home. Lacey knows this, but there are exceptions. And I can always take the bus or call a cab.
The funny thing is Lacey is right. Something about the light of it all, and for some reason, I never see it, not until it’s over, not until it’s too late. I think about how much I wish she’d been with me as a little girl, but I am thankful for her now, despite her sexual preferences. And did I not have loving parents? So yes, why the void? Was I aware of my own capabilities? Had I suppressed the urge to release them when I knew I could do better?
But I like where I am. I like the bookstore; I like Junky and Pug, Mom, and Dad. So, what the hell was it?
“Love,” Lacey says. “You have people that love and care about you, but you don’t give it a chance. You settle for things to come along, and go with them, knowing full well it’ll never work, that you’ve made a mistake.”
“Who gave you permission to talk?”
“Carmilla,” she says. “She was just here.”
~
After an hour, I realize it is after one o’clock. I can’t believe it. Of course, the movie had taken most of the evening. Lacey grabs her keys, and we take the elevator down. The movement makes me realize, again, how drunk I am. We stumble out, get in her car, and manage to get to my apartment without any difficulty. I’m worried about her driving back. At least it’s only ten minutes away. Before I get out, she looks at me.
“Call me,” she says.
“I will.” I reach for the door.
“Hugs and kisses before you go,” she says.
I give her a huge hug and kiss her on the cheek, a reward for being such a good friend. It always makes her smile. Maybe life would be easier, I think…
I get out, wave to her as she drives away, and watch until she is out of sight. I climb the stairs to my apartment, letting myself in, realizing suddenly how quiet it is with her gone. I am too aware of the silence, the aloneness that greets me. I wish I’d brought Junky home earlier, his cat box and bowl of food—just for the company. I can walk down and get him, but I’m too drunk, and it’s too late.
I put the keys on the counter and take off my shoes. I tousle my thick black curls and look at myself in the bedroom mirror. “Carmilla says you’re abusing your potential, and you should be sailing around the world.”
I say this to myself, waiting for an answer. I think about Pug and my barbecue date with Mom and Dad.
There is light all around you, Carmilla says. Because you are light, Rayleigh. You are the source of magic that stems from all light.
I shake my head. Maybe there is a glass of wine in the fridge still. Maybe the Vodka bottle still has a dollop in it.
“Light always goes away into the dark,” I say. “There is no such thing as an eternal beau. Light cannot be expanded. Not in the eyes of Rayleigh Thorn.”
My cynicism has won for the evening. But many rounds have yet to be fought. What do I know of abundance and care? At thirty-four, I thought I’d start to understand, and in a way, I have. But I have no idea…I haven’t the first clue…
Power? I never thought it possible. Little girl displaying all your needs and cares. What is it you really want? That was going to be the question. And I had no idea what it meant. I should have stayed with Lacey tonight. I already miss her.
I put my glass of wine in the air and toast a silent blessing to my best friend, tha
nking her for her companionship and abundance. It’s definitely more than I can give.
I look at the answering machine and am thankful there are no messages.
3.
Light, You Will Go Away With Me
The next day it is even colder. Spring is put on hold. Looking out the windows, a thick coverage of gray clouds hovers below the sky, and there’s a light mist in the air.
Light mist, sailing, and driving in fancy cars. Light mist does not make me tremble. That is where love is.
If this continues, maybe Mom and Dad will cancel the barbecue, and I won’t have to worry about Mother setting me up in the future with Mr. Bore.
I shower, put on some make-up, donning a pair of blue jeans and a blue sweater. I eat a bowl of strawberry Special K and two pieces of toast. I drink two cups of coffee, and finally, feeling a little refreshed, head out the door, remembering a jacket this time, my purse bumping against me as I walk. I like the weather, although, it plays havoc on my sinuses when it jumps quickly from warm to wet, to cold, and back again. The day is already busy with the rush of cars and passersby.
I open the store at ten o’clock, close at eight, sometimes earlier. Ten hours is a long day in a modicum of a bookstore, but I have plenty to read.
At The Broken Spine, I unlock the door, and step inside, the bell going off above me. Junky meets me, meowing, starved for attention. I put my purse behind the counter, take off my jacket, and go into the back room which leads to the alley behind the bookstore. Junky’s litter box needs cleaning, and he is out of water…poor bugger. I take care of these things, opening the back door, letting in some fresh air. I refill his dish of food and water, and it seems to please him. He rubs against my legs as a sign of appreciation. In the alley, I notice a steel cage about three feet long and a foot tall. A cat trap, I see, or a trap for any animal—a small dog, a raccoon. I have seen them in the alleys before and do not like them. I have yet to see a cat inside and pray I won’t. I understand many strays populate the city, but they mind their own business and eat out of garbage cans. I do not like the senseless killing of any animal, especially harmless ones. Fearing for Junky’s life, I shut the door in case he decides to bolt.
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